


If There’s a Star Above, It Can Look like Love

by Youarethelightoftheworld



Series: Love at Christmastime [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, not John or Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youarethelightoftheworld/pseuds/Youarethelightoftheworld
Summary: John learns, this Christmas, that they need different things.





	If There’s a Star Above, It Can Look like Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my first Christmas fic, Here Comes the Cold. I encourage you to read that first, but this story can also stand alone! 
> 
> Merry Christmas!!

Another Christmas.

Through the years, Sherlock and John have learned how to hold each other. They know each other’s hearts, and they no longer try to hide them from each other. In years past, the winter chill brought along with it John’s insecurities and fears. And Sherlock had been there to draw him close, steadfast and sure.

This year, it seems, it is time for John to return the favor.

 

* * *

 

There is a day when Sherlock does not get out of bed.

John has seen this before. He has woken to the sight of Sherlock curled in on himself, sleeping fitfully, with furrowed brow and fingers clenching the quilt up to his chin. But on this day, John wakes up alone.

He makes the bed in the room that they share together. He goes about his day, assuming that Sherlock woke early and left the flat. It takes him much longer than it should to notice that Sherlock’s old bedroom door, usually left open, is shut.

He curses.

 

* * *

 

His cell phone rings.

Mycroft, on the other end of the line:

“Mother is dead, John.”

Christmas is in seven days.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock needs silence.

He needs to be anywhere else. Away.

John is pounding on the locked door.

 

* * *

 

When the sound becomes too much, he finds the strength to drag himself out of bed and open the door.

John, standing there. His John.

“I’m sorry, John. I need to be alone. I just need to think.”

John opens his mouth to speak.

“Please, John.”

A stiff nod, clenched jaw.

John – his John – lowers himself into a seated position on the floor, back to the wall, facing Sherlock’s door.

Sherlock exhales and gets back under the covers.

The door is left open.

 

* * *

 

John learns, this Christmas, that they need different things.

John, in the past, has found that he needs Sherlock’s arms around him, anchoring him to the present and helping him push away the past. He needs Sherlock’s voice, reminding him of his presence and love.

Sherlock, it seems, needs space. And so John gives that to him, but he never goes too far. He hovers along the periphery of Sherlock’s self-inflicted isolation, lest he miss a moment when he is needed. In case he misses a call to arms.

He puts up the tree but leaves the star off. For that, he needs Sherlock.

Christmas is four days away.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is reviewing and sorting each memory of his mother.

It has taken quite some time. Days, he thinks.

There is the memory of Mummy in a jeweled gown, stirring their traditional mulled wine.

There is the memory of Mummy stomping through the snow alongside him, on a mission to build the tallest snowman.

There is Mummy, opening Sherlock’s handmade ornament, shaped like a bumblebee.

When he gently moves the final memory into a resting place, he looks around to find John.

It’s Christmas Eve.

 

* * *

 

John is sitting at the kitchen table when he hears Sherlock’s voice for the first time.

“I’m sorry, John.”

John looks up.

“Human error, John. I can’t fix it, I can’t fix any of it. And I’m meant to be helping you. I know what happens to you at this time of year.”

Sherlock is hovering next to the table, his arms at his sides and his gaze fixed on the floor.

John stands, moving closer. He lifts Sherlock’s chin with gentle pressure.

“Would you like to tell me about her?”

Sherlock smiles.

 

* * *

 

They spend Christmas Day together.

Sherlock tells John about the time his mother brought him to meet a beekeeper.

John gives him a framed photo of his mother, holding a smiling, 4-year old Sherlock in her lap. Mycroft had sent it to him the day before.

And so they learn how to hold each other tighter – and when to loosen their grip.

The Christmas lights twinkle, the candles on the mantle glow.

The star at the top of the tree gleams, and it looks like love.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Calling on Mary by Aimee Mann 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
